


The Last Moments of Arvedui Last-King

by darksylvia



Category: Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-20
Updated: 2004-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-03 15:59:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darksylvia/pseuds/darksylvia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For the Third Age Ficathon</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Last Moments of Arvedui Last-King

**Author's Note:**

> For the Third Age Ficathon

Arvedui Last-king could hear the ice begin to buckle. It had only been groaning, adjusting before, trying to find an outlet for the pressure. He pictured the great weight of snow and hail and frozen seawater over top of them, pinning the ship in.

And felt relief. He'd been through such a storm of emotions in the past year that being this close to the end, finally, brought nothing but a sudden lightness.

He did remember, when things had started to become difficult, that he had had the hope and vigor to fight his way out of each new battle. He suspected that he'd exhausted both long ago and had been running on nothing but habit since. His only regret was that so many others were dying with him. His wife, his men, his allies. If he'd had any vitality left to feel guilt, it would be towards leading them to a dead end.

The ice creaked again and Arvedui wondered just how long it was going to take, exactly. He thought of the waiting before each of the battles that had led to this juncture. Each had seemed the hardest wait, but as this would be his last, it took the prize.

His relief strengthened at the prospect of never having to see the King of Angmar again. Each fight, each seemingly inevitable loss, and each desperate flight further and further North had burdened him further, knowing that such a creature was just behind them. Even if they thought of the Palantir of Amon-Sul in the Witch-King's possession wasn't unbearable in itself there would have been no other choice but to run on. No man would stay and willingly let that overtake them.

During the brief respite with the men of the mountains, and then the hope that had reached out to them in the form of Cirdan's ship, he hadn't really believed they were free of the Witch-king. The respite hadn't touched him, the hope never reached him. He doubted, even if they had eventually made it safely to Gondor and Minas Tirith's high stone walls, that he would ever have been free of Angmar and it's king.

But here, pinned between the ice and the chill water, they were all safe from the Witch-King. And soon, they'd be somewhere else entirely, leaving the world's problems to the destiny of others. Leaving battles and dark things and blood and victory to those who's spirits were still strong enough.

He heard a sharp crack and then the unmistakable sound of ice sliding on ice. He tightened his hand over his wife's and exhaled in peace as the ice crashed in.


End file.
